


Herschel Residence Hall, Suite 238

by BambooTeaWhisk



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon, First Time, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 08:02:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7793737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BambooTeaWhisk/pseuds/BambooTeaWhisk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only within the first few weeks of the new semester did Jim manage to burn down the entirety of the undergraduate cadet dormitory with an experiment gone rogue. Major bummer. With housing options limited, the Academy reassigned him to an apartment across campus with a new graduate student roommate, Spock.</p><p>99% relationship & world building, 1% plot. I know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Star Trek story ever, and I hope it's alright so far! I've been throwing around some headcannons recently and was interested in writing an Academy AU with Spock and Jim as roommates (and eventual lovers). I also was interested in writing Gaila and Nyota as strong, independent women, so they're featured in this story as well. 
> 
> Overall rating at this point: PG-13. There might be some NC-17 writing towards the end (I can't stop myself). Will adjust accordingly!

“Damnit Jim, you set the dorm on fire!”

“Look, Bones, I didn’t mean to,” Jim started as he sprinted down the stairs and bolted for the emergency exit, roommate Leonard McCoy hot on his heels. They coughed violently and swatted at the smoke clouding in the hallway, leaping over various chairs and items strewn about the floors. “It just happened, alright?”

Fortunately for the two of them, Jim had conveniently selected a national holiday to proceed with his dismantlement of the reimagined Millikan’s Oil Drop Apparatus in an attempt to understand the ‘old scientists thought’,  but failed to remember a simple principle: oil is flammable, especially oil exposed to ancient circuitry. Put the whole shebang next to a canister of pressurized liquid nitroglycerin _– ‘that was the last of my potent vasodilators, Jim! What am I going to do when you give me a heart attack?’_ – and an explosion was inevitable. As the two continued tearing down the hallways, a secondary explosions rocked the building, knocking paintings off walls and wrenching doors out of their frames.

“But you did! It did happen! And all of those medikits, gone and ruined!” Bones growled, wrenching an emergency stairway door open for the two to sprint down.

“Tragedy, but look at my hair,” Jim moaned, fingers clutching at sooty black strands. “It’s ruined!”

“Cry me a river, Jim. Those dermos weren’t cheap, you know.”

“I’ll pay you back if we get out of here alive!” Jim leapt over a crevice in the stairs and barely made it across before the steel support beams groaned one final, resounding moan and cracked in two. What would’ve been a feasible three-foot jump now spanned a twelve foot distance, and Bones was too old and tired to deal with this shit.

“What’s the matter, Bones? _Nothin’ but a crack in the sidewalk_ , you’d say,” Jim said innocently, blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

“You’re fixing to get your hide tanned,” Bones growled before backtracking a few steps. His Southern-isms came out when he was especially irritated, and Jim permanently destroying all of his possessions was definitely cause for _irritation_. Nevertheless, he had more serious problems to answer, such as being stuck in a collapsing building while his roommate and ex-best friend ran cackling down the final flight of stairs to sweet freedom.

Returning back to the hallway, Bones briefly considered running across to the other set of emergency stairs, but the loudest bang yet nearly rendered him deaf, and the world seemed to collapse right under his feet. He skidded across the uneven surface for a moment before tripping over some Andorian’s hair curling iron and faceplanting into a slab of hewn concrete. A smack to the back of his head has him seeing stars twinkling in the dust, and he can’t _breathe_ , there’s dust everywhere, clogging his lungs and Bones briefly thought _‘Dust Pnuemonia’_ before he choked on the particulates smothering his face. He’s absolutely covered in the stuff, cadet reds now a muted pink in the fine white powder, and blearily trying to find an exit but suddenly, a light fixture plummeted from the ceiling and rendered him unconscious. Before his mind faded into oblivion, Bones remembered a pale shade of green flitting across his vision, a sharp contrast to the flickering flames and clouds of white dust.

 

oOo

 

He felt a bumblebee’s stinger pierce the skin of his cheek, shooting pain all along his nerve endings. A few seconds later - and again, the bee stung his other side. Persistent bugger.

“Cadet, I do not think it wise to rouse an unconscious human via physical strength. Emergency procedures dictate contacting medical services in the case of a non-life threatening injury, such as-“

What Bones believed to be the tinny humming of a bee’s wings slowly amplifies into a voice droning from vaguely the left-hand side of his hearing range. The bee stung him again on his left cheek, and he instinctively winced against.

“He’s not waking!” Someone wailed from deep in the mist.

“Mhurrmph,” Bones moaned. “Whoozat?”

“Bones! You’re awake!” Unmistakably, that familiar voice never failed to incite irritation within Bones’… well, bones. And maybe a little bit of fondness, but he’s not likely to admit it.

The man sprawled on the ground slowly inches an eye open. To him, the world was swirling up above with several copies of Jim’s face peering down at him, and Bones decided that closing his eyes would be a much more pleasant view.

“Danggit Jim, swat that bee, won’t you?” Bones grumbled.

“Huh? What bee?” Jim’s voice sounds confused.

“The cadet has awakened and appears to be in no immediate harm. As I have a preoccupation to fulfill, I will take my leave immediately. Cadet Kirk, I entrust you to ensure his safety until the medical mobile support has arrived.”

“Of course!” Jim chirped, obviously very pleased with the fact Bones had awakened.

Footsteps faded away as Jim poked Bones again in the shoulder. “You alright, Bones? Took a hard one to the head. Stay right here and we’ll get the medics to come look at you-“

“Jim. What did you do?” Jim winced as Bones bluntly addressed him.

“I fucked up, Bones. I forgot about the conductive properties of oil and its proximity to circuity features on the Millikan’s experiment that would’ve sparked when left unattended.”

“Why the hell did you leave your little explosive _unattended_?” Bones snarled. Jim was old enough to stop forgetting ongoing experiments, he wasn’t a child to be coddled with basic circuitry.

“I… I’m sorry.” Jim hung his head. “The Andorian Academic Journal published an article on the advancements of energy optimization in non-Terran agriculture, and I was side-tracked…”

“Did you save the PADDs?”

“ Of course, those are expensive!” Jim looked indignant at Bones’ question. He ignored the sigh from the other and grinned weakly. “Saved the research too, thank Einstein.”

“Speaking of money, how’re you going to pay for this, Jim?” Bones query was a serious one. It posed a perspective Jim hadn’t thought of prior to now, and he suddenly realized that the entirety of the devastation now fell on his shoulders.

“I-I don’t actually know, Bones,” Jim’s face fell.

Bones sighed. It wasn’t common knowledge that the younger of the two had a tough financial situation. Jim had confided in him last year when Bones realized that Jim never left to visit home on breaks. Despite being a grouch on the outside, Bones was a teddy bear at heart and invited the other cadet back to Georgia every holiday, encouraging Mama McCoy to stuff the younger one full with home-style cooking at every opportunity. Jim had initially voiced his concern at imposing on family gatherings until Bones gruffly clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’re family now, Jim. Whether you like it or not. Now shut up and let me give you your vacs.”

Now, Jim looked worried beyond all belief, but began to stroke Bones’ hair as they waited for medical services to arrive. The feel of Jim’s fingers running through his hair felt nice, and Bones thought it was nice to be taken care of for once. But only once. Jim’s voice cracked as he whispered, “Glad you’re alright Bones.”

When the medics arrived, Jim lauded them for their professional behavior upon viewing red handprints on Bones’ face. But the moment passed, and Bones is loaded up into an ambulance and hovercrafted away to be treated for minor injuries. Jim lingered behind, shoe scraping carelessly in the dust.

A lone figure is all to be seen near the rubble.

 

oOo

_**Five weeks earlier** _

 

“Veer 15o to aft!” Jim yelled, fingers strained and digging into the plush of his command seat.

“Yes, Captain!” the helmsman shouted back and proceeded to punch in the required calculations to maneuver the ship in the appropriate direction. However, a blast rocketed their bridge and sent sparks flying into the dashboard of the control panel. The helmsman yelped and wrenched back sore fingers, but one glance from Jim has him placing his hands back onto the controls determinedly.

Jim glanced around their surroundings and made a split-second decision to advance quickly while the enemy ships were recovering from their offensive attack. “Evasive maneuvers, and increase shields on starboard side; Engineering, do we have enough power to fuel an advancement of 2 AU in 10 seconds? We need to be up front and personal to minimize damage sustained.”

The communicator buzzed and crackled before a frantic voice responded, “Aye, Captain, it’s feasible, but highly unadvisable.”

“Proceed immediately.” Jim smashed the button to activate the retraining functions on his seat. “Restraint systems, everyone.”

“Captain, the whiplash could be damaging to humans aboard the ship, and the jerk will reduce the integrity of the ship-“

“Are my commands unclear, Ensign Mitchell?” Jim asked icily as his eyes are pinned to the enemy locational devices tracking their ship.

Cadet Mitchell gulped nervously and muttered in response, “No, Captain.”

Fifteen tense seconds later, Jim noticed the Kobayashi-Maru stealthily warping away from the hypocenter of action; he breathed out a sigh of relief when he realized the ship was able to escape with only minimal hull damage. As for his own ship, he’s not so sure when a larger blast rocked the bridge and everyone is sent careening to the left. A red flashing light and warning alarm rang out to notify the captain of a dangerous hull breach, and Jim realized that he’s failed yet again.

The administrators observing above mutter to themselves, and Jim felt their eyes pressing on his every action, but he chose to ignore them in favor of saying, “Abandon ship.”

The lights shut down and the simulation ends.

He can feel the disappointment weighing him down from all around, and he slumped miserably in the chair as the rest of the bridge crew trooped out of the simulation room, dejected at another failure marring their exercise reports.

A hand clapped Jim on the shoulder. “If it’s any comfort, nobody’s been able to beat the Kobayashi-Maru.”

Cadet Sulu’s smile was friendly, much kinder than Jim deserves to be addressed with. He had failed, albeit less spectacularly than last time, but this simulation had been a failure nonetheless. The lives of 430 individuals were threatened because of Kirk’s decisions.

With a last smile and a half-hearted wave, Cadet Sulu exited the simulation room, leaving Jim all alone to sulk in his failure. He remained for an additional thirty minutes, pondering every action taken during the simulation and questioning the integrity of every decision he uttered. Frustrated with the end result, Jim stalked out of the simulation room in search of Bones and hard liquor. In no particular order.

As Cadet Kirk exited the simulation room, he failed to look up at the observing booth, assuming the booth to be emptied of any occupants. However, had he glanced upwards, he would’ve noticed a pointy-eared Vulcan observing him keenly from behind the glass.

 

oOo

_**Current Day** _

 

It wasn’t long until Jim was summoned by the administrators to explain the circumstances under which an entire cadet dormitory collapsed in 38.9 seconds. He’d only known the specifics because it was included in the flagged memo, as if it was a time he should be proud of.

What was the protocol on first time offenders who hoarded explosives and destroyed Starfleet property? There wasn’t a protocol on dealing with cadets who did such crimes, but the sentence for a Federation employee – who did so with malicious intention, Jim adds – is a minimum of five years _. Five years_ in an intergalactic prison would surely cramp his plans to finish cadet training in three years-

“Oof!” Jim collided with a solid grey object. “ ‘Scuse me, my apologies,” he began to say, but realized that the other was staring intently into his eyes. All he could comprehend was deep brown eyes, chocolate in color and swirling with an indescribable emotion.

He waited a second longer, still maintaining that same awkward eye contact before breaking and wiping at his face. Perhaps there were leftover dust particulates sprinkled on his nose, or his breakfast from earlier that morning strewn across his chin; either way, Jim felt slightly uncomfortable with the intense scrutiny.

“Cadet Kirk.” The intonation wasn’t posed as a question, more a statement, but Jim felt compelled to respond. He mustered all the bravado he possibly could while standing in a dust-coated cadet uniform, before breaking out in that easy grin that had all the girls – and some guys! – swooning.

“That’s me,” he said easily, smile feeling slightly artificial. “And you are…?”

No emotional response. Jim vaguely guessed he would be an excellent player in poker. The other blinked solemnly before speaking slowly. “Admiral Pike has requested your presence.”

“Huh? Oh right, shit, I’ve got to go. Sorry ‘bout that.” And he took off down the pathway in pursuit of the administration offices. A few minutes later, Jim was still scanning the grounds for the appropriate building when he realized the other never answered his question. _Evasive_ , he thought, _avoiding the question by asking another._

Only by luck Jim guessed the correct building and dashed inside, breath puffing lightly in the cold winter air. He skidded to a stop outside of Admiral Pike’s office and attempted to brush off the remaining dust lingering on his cadet reds before stepping inside. He first noticed the spacious interiors of the room, dimensions clearly spanning a human’s basketball court easily, and then noted the two individuals standing across the room behind the desk.

One was an older gentleman – clearly Admiral Pike by the grimace on his face – and the other had that familiar poker face with the deep brown eyes.

“You!” Jim stabbed an accusing finger in their direction as he came to an ungainly stop a few meters away from the pair.

“Cadet Kirk!” Admiral Pike barks. “Have a seat.”

Jim bobbed ungainly for a second in protest before collapsing in an empty chair on the other side of the desk. The two men also took their seat, facing Jim in a situation eerily reminiscent of his childhood days.

Admiral Pike sighed deeply and briefly rested his hand against his face in an exhausted gesture. “Jim, it’s been less than two years since you’ve enrolled in this academy. Your record has been less than stellar – of course, your academics have been more than satisfactory, but your track record…”

He looked down to avoid eye contact with Jim. “Per Starfleet regulations, we must reconsideration your enrollment in the academy.”

“M-my admission?” Jim wasn’t proud of the way his voice shook, but he couldn’t help it. “I might be kicked out?”

“Hold it, Jim. The academic council has already convened and made their decision.” Admiral Pike glared briefly at Jim, softening his eyes when he noticed a slight bit of terror in the cadet. “As you may know, Lieutenant Spock is a member of the academic faculty here at Starfleet Academy. For the past three years, he has commandeered the development and execution of various simulations.”

Jim waited expectantly, hardly paying attention to the credentials of Lieutenant Spock, anticipating the conclusion of Admiral Pike’s spiel.

“As part of the instructive faculty, he was invited to sit council. Lieutenant Spock, the verdict of the council, please?”

“Cadet Kirk demonstrates high levels of mental acuity and diligence suitable to Starfleet cadets. Though he is reckless and irrational approximately 5.3% of his time here, such descriptors are common traits denoted in the human race and is in no excess in his person. However, his critical thinking skills may be subpar, but the council found this to not be imperative in relevance to his enrollment. There will be no penalty on his academic record, but he is penalized with five months’ worth of work-study in compensation of the demolished cadet dorm.”

Jim heaved a giant sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to be kicked out, and work-study couldn’t be too bad, right? The worst he could possibly get is maybe working at the local cantina serving cheap coffee to sleep-deprived cadets, and even there, he’d be able to flirt with the Tellarite gang.

Admiral Pike clasped his hands together. “We have already done the required search for an appropriate lab for your placement. You will work as an environmental system analyst in the Nihtroughjin Institute, in the non-terran and alternative energy division-“

He couldn’t believe his ears. Admiral Pike considered researching in a globally recognized lab as punishment? This had to be a dream. Jim gaped openly at him, mind clogged with the sounds of _‘alternative energy division.’_

“It won’t be easy work, and I expect good outcomes. Good luck, Cadet Kirk.” Admiral Pike stood to shake his hand across the desk. Jim, caught unaware, fumbled to wipe the sweat off his palms on his pants before extending a hand in a firm handshake. He tentatively lingered his hand in the empty space as invitation for a handshake with Lieutenant Spock, but quickly retracted it when Spock stares at him blankly.

Clearly a dismissal, Jim turns to exit the room before a voice rang out.

“Cadet Kirk?” Jim started at the noise and turned around questioningly. He locked eyes with Lieutenant Spock, once again immersed in the rich brown color.

“Live long and prosper.”

 

oOo

 

Working in the lab was definitely the opposite definition of easy. If anything, Jim considered his research to be one of the most physically and mentally strenuous jobs he’s ever undertaken, but flourished under the academic pressure to succeed.

Jim was done with work and exiting the laboratory in search of the locker room when he realized he hadn’t checked his messages all day long.

He wiped his hand off on his cargos before extracting his PADD from the locker. Earlier that day, Admiral Pike had sent him a message to anticipate contact from his potential roommate. Since the destruction of the cadet dormitories, hundreds of homeless students were suddenly left without proper room and board. The Academy had scrambled about to find adequate housing for displaced students, Jim and Bones included, and most were being put in graduate level dorms for temporary purposes.

Bones had been one of the lucky few who actually knew his mandated roommates; he was stationed with 5th year cadets Scotty and Keenser. The former was an astrophobic – _ironic_ , James thought, _to be enrolled in Starfleet_ – engineering major who had chosen to return for a fifth year as opposed to becoming stationed on a ship, and the latter elected to remain with Scotty. The two were a quirky bunch, but nothing Jim thought Bones couldn’t handle.

As for Jim’s housing assignment, it remained suspiciously blank. He sighed irritably before tossing his PADD onto the countertop and stripping out of his work uniform top. Jim’s pants were conveniently tangled around his ankles when the _ring!_ of a new notification sounded throughout the locker room. He gulped in anticipation, suddenly feeling a little queasy. As classes hadn’t started in the new semester yet, it could only mean one thing – Jim’s roommate had chosen to finally message him.

Pulling open the notification on his PADD, he read through the message at lightning speed.

 

**Herschel Residence Hall, Suite 238. Plan to arrive at 6 PM with your belongings.**

**-S**

 

One trek across a campus later, and Jim found himself standing in front of Herschel Residence Hall. As one of the few buildings he had not ventured inside to explore, it stood at an impressive eight floors high and designed in a distinctly Gothic fashion, vaulted ceilings and ornate grandeur revealing a wealthy resident’s taste. He gawked at the lavish architecture and realized where the majority of housing funding is funneled, ignoring the questioning glances the other bystanders were shooting at him.

“Hey there, handsome. Can I help you find somewhere?” A green female leaned out of the doorway, sinuous body rippling to perfectly show off her toned figure. “Or someone; if you’re a little more specific about what you’re into, I might be able to help.” She winked cattily and beckoned a finger at him.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Jim stepped forwards immediately, lips turning up into an easy smile. “Hey there ma’am, I’m looking for a particular suite here, but I’ve got a few minutes to spare to explore around a bit. Want to show me yours?”

She laughed openly, fingers curling around his collar. “I’ll be more than willing, cadet. The name’s Gaila; computational mathematics major and a cadet as well. Most importantly,” she pulled him close to whisper in his ear, “I’m an _Orion_.”

They’ve nearly rounded the final corner to her dorm when Jim stopped short in front of a suite. In particular, this was Suite 238 with a brass plating hanging on the door:

 

**Suite 238**

**Occupants: S'chn T'gai Spock & Jim Kirk**

 

Gaila laughed breathlessly and tugged at Jim’s sleeve. “C’mon, I’ve got a cool toy to show you.”

“Wait a moment,” Jim murmured as he examined the plating closer. “Who’s that?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Gaila said, “I dunno, he hasn’t really poked his nose out of there much. Rumor has it he’s a grad student that’s never seen the light of day.”

Jim shrugged in return, then glanced at his watch. 5:47, he noted, and realized that he’s got at least thirteen minutes to kill before knocking on that door. Gaila pluckily tugged the watch right off his wrist and stuffed it in his pocket before drawing him close in a kiss. He’s distracted with the flowery smell of her perfume and the feel of her hair beneath her fingers and doesn’t notice when the door behind him slid open to reveal the occupant inside.

“Cadet Kirk.”

He would’ve recognized that voice anywhere. Jim yelped and jumped back blindly, cheeks burning in embarrassment. He looked up and locked eyes with a rich, warm chocolatey brown color.

 “Lieutenant Spock!”


	2. Chapter 2

“Correct.”

Spock’s demeanor was remarkably similar to Captain Pike’s admonishments with his severe inflection. Despite the subtle exasperation noted in his voice, his emotions remained surprisingly hidden. A stoic one, Jim thought, but he could easily crack him. Right?

Jim detangled himself from Gaila speedily- reassuring the Orion that he’d visit her later- before walking to stand in front of the Vulcan. Spock hadn’t moved from his position behind the doorframe, opting to stare at the cadet from the half meter-wide gap between the door and the wall. Jim noted with displeasure that he drew up a few inches shorter than the other, but chose to not let their height difference intimidate him.

Extending a hand, Jim attempted to properly introduced himself first. “I’m Cadet Jim Kirk, your new roommate.”

“As I have confirmed your name upon recognizing your presence, I have already acknowledged your presence.” Spock chose not to reciprocate the handshake. Jim let his hand dangle in the air for a few other seconds before dropping it gracelessly. He frowned in confusion, but then Spock opened the door even further. “You may come in.”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Jim said faux-cheerily before striding into Spock’s apartment. The door shut behind him softly, but Jim was too preoccupied with the features inside the room to notice-

Spanning an entire wall was a bookshelf stacked with books.

Oh. _Books._ Jim was immediately drawn to them, eyes locked onto the museum of data, tales, adventures, information housed in a dark cherry wood encasement. He hadn’t noticed Spock standing behind him until the other spoke. “I have made the appropriate arrangements to cohabitate with a human male, specifically adhering to the 20th century human philosopher Martha C. Nussbaum’s _A Conception of the Human Being: The Central Human Capabilities_ list of requirements. You will find this apartment appropriately suited to your needs, Cadet Kirk.”

“Personally, I am more of a Dembroff fan,” Jim jibbed as he turned around to face the other. He noted with relish that the Vulcan’s eyes widened perceptively at the mention of the philosopher. Perhaps he hadn’t thought Jim to be an avid reader. “But the post-modern feminism acknowledgement is appreciated.”

“I will retrieve your key to the apartment promptly.” Turning around almost mechanically, Spock left – ‘ _fled?’_ Jim thought briefly – the room through the door he had just closed. Sighing, he turned back around to examine the rest of the apartment.

Herschel Residence Hall, Room 238 was a spacious apartment designed in a minimalistic layout reminiscent of a pharmaceutical clean room. Only a small palette of color was used – and if any, the objects were in muted shades, such as the olive green plant near the west window or the plush maroon rug spanning the living room space. But white walls and floors be dammed when Spock basically had an entire library of books. Jim hadn’t seen so many physical copies since his childhood memories at a public library, and even those memories were tinged with grief – Jim shook his head; he wouldn’t let his past be dredged up now, what with all of these books in front of him.

Walking along the bookshelf, Jim trailed a finger and mouthed the words on the spines to himself. _“Austen, Roddenberry, Shikibu, Dickens, Buck, Pierce, Brontë…”_ The books appeared to be organized in no particular manner, spanning over twenty-four centuries and featuring a complete collection of Austen literature. While some appeared to be in pristine condition, others appeared more weathered with use, perhaps from the thousands of inquisitive fingers thumbing over the pages. Jim was enraptured. Not that anyone could’ve known, but he was secretly infatuated with reading ancient and archaic literature the ‘old-fashioned’ way. Starfleet had unfortunately switched to PADD reading – citing bulkiness, storage, and environmental concern as reason for making the switch, but Jim favored the weight of a book on his lap and pages to turn as opposed to the electric gleam of electronics.

Hearing the door open from behind him, Jim asked, “In what method are your literature organized?”

“By personal favorites,” Spock said, voice drawing near. “This was my mother’s collection. She gifted it to me upon my acceptance to Starfleet Academy.”

Jim turned around abruptly and looked at Spock. As usual, the other showed no sign of emotion and instead looked calculatingly back at the human. Jim thought he sensed fondness in Spock’s dark eyes, but it quickly disappeared when the Vulcan returned, “Shall I show you your room, Cadet Kirk?”

 “Call me Jim.”

“I would prefer not to,” Spock declined before walking down the hall to their right.

“And why not?” Jim persisted as he followed the Vulcan, duffle bag in tow.

A silence followed. Spock seemed unsure when he next spoke, but Jim still had difficulty distinguishing his different emotions through his verbal inflections. “We are not yet well acquainted.”

“But we will be soon, perhaps?” Jim continued. He wouldn’t give up, not when he had come so close to breaking through the other’s shields.

“Perhaps.” Spock suddenly stopped and gestured to a doorway off the hall. Jim walked through first and set his duffle bag down before examining his surroundings. Like the common area, this room was minimally decorated and had sparse scatterings of color. As a matter of fact, the entire dorm gave off an impersonal, detached ambiance. Nevertheless, he’d attempt to personalize by the end of the semester, beginning with slathering all of his Beastie Boys posters across the white expanse of his walls.

As Spock closed the door to his room, Jim smiled broadly, the first genuine smile in a while.

 

oOo

 

“And he’s got all of these books everywhere, it’s incredible, Bones!” Jim gushed, hands gesturing wildly at his best friend. The two males were navigating Starfleet’s cafeteria together in search of their classmates. “From floor to ceiling – if there’s approximately 350 pages per text and each text occupies thirty-four square inches, the entire shebang’s got to be at least 213,000 pages!”

“Yeah, yeah, keep harpin’ on your book obsession,” Bones muttered as he scanned over the red-outfitted cadets milling about the room. Spotting their local lunch crew, he began dragging Jim towards their direction.

“-I saw Austen and Roddenberry listed; I haven’t gotten a chance to read either of their works,” Jim babbled happily as he was towed over to their lunch table. Suddenly realizing he had a larger audience than just Bones, he blinked around. “Oh, you found ‘em, Bones!”

“Hell yeah I did,” Bones muttered before Jim butted in. “Morning, Scotty, Keenser!”

The Scottish male tersely nodded his head in Jim’s direction as he was engaged in discussion with his alien roommate, Keenser. Jim vaguely caught wind of words such as ‘electricity generators’ and ‘photovoltaic power stations’. The two were engineering majors and obviously had a more expansive background on the subject, but Jim was an undisclosed expert on alternative energy thanks to his brief experience at the Nihtroughjin Institute, focusing on the 21st century development and usage alternative energy. He spoke easily, twirling an abandoned fork around his fingers. “Integration of tracking systems permitted maximized utilization of Sol’s output, providing an additional 500 megawatts per year collected, fueling 2.5 times the original intended target and allowed for – theoretically – the development of warp drive capabilities.”

“Perhaps not _‘allowed’_ , but ‘ _assisted with’_ , Cadet Kirk. Correction of your terminology will assist in clear communication.” A female voice interjected. Jim whipped his head around to stare at the newcomer. He was not used to being interrupted nor corrected, and was curious as to who dared to challenge his claim. Two females sat a few seats down – Jim recognized one as Gaila, the Orion from yesterday evening, and she smiled at him, but the other was unfamiliar to him. She was a confident, poised cadet who tossed her ponytail over her shoulder before continuing, “Captain Henry discussed the benefits of utilizing photovoltaic solar plants, but explained the contributive unified forces of renewable energy as a whole to back the extensive power supply required for proceeding with matter/antimatter reactions.”

“And who might you be?” Kirk inquired. He tilted his head, examining the female cadet searchingly. She stared assuredly back at him and remarked, “Cadet Uhura, 3rd year Xenolinguistics major.”

“Well, Cadet Uhura, you certainly know your stuff.” Jim said before squishing between her and Sulu. The Asian male looked indignant at his personal space being violated before turning back into conversation with another human male – with a Russian accent, Jim noted – but Jim refocused his attention on the two ladies next to him. “Gaila, it is lovely to see you again.”

“Likewise,” she smiled before turning back to Uhura. Suddenly, she noticed a figure from across the cafeteria that was particularly noteworthy and rapidly said something in Low Orion to her friend. The female’s eyes widened upon receiving the news and stood up quickly, exiting the room.

“Someone’s in a rush,” Jim remarked before stealing one of Uhura’s abandoned French fries.

“She’s seen her lover,” Gaila said smugly. Jim detected a hint of jealousy, but ignored the inflection in her voice. She turned her focus to Jim and gazed seductively at him. “And perhaps I’ve seen mine as well.”

“Have you, now?” Jim was ready to flirt. He was more than ready to discuss the rest of their conversation from last night, but then…

“Squickk!” The sounds of wet tentacles sliding across a surface sounded eerily close to Jim. Too close. He turned instinctively and was met with a face full of moist green plant life suctioning onto his face. Jim yelled, then leaned backwards off his seat and fell on the floor. Frantically scrubbing at the mysterious object attached to his head, Jim screamed, “Baaaahhh!”

“Sorry about that, Cadet Kirk,” Sulu began babbling, fingers wiggling frantically as he searched on his PADD for a way to release the flora encaging Jim’s face. “ _The Venomous Tentacula is a species not familiar to any Terran environments but flourishes when introduced to the wavelength emitted by Sol…”_ he read anxiously, still skimming the article.

“Well, Jim, it looks like we’re in a pickle,” Bones joked, smiling at his ‘pickle’ joke.

“Arrruuggh!”

Laughter sounded out as he pathetically tried to wrench the object from off his face. Suddenly, the pressure disappeared – but unfortunately not the pus excreted by the object as it slipped down his face and into his collar – and Jim could see again.

One tall Vulcan stood before him, face schooled into an impassive expression.

Jim did a double-take. He had, on first glance, assumed it was Spock, but on closer examination, noted slight differences in the Vulcans’ appearances. This male’s eyebrows were at a 7° tilt upwards more than Spock’s, and face was slightly slimmer. And instead of the grey of Spock’s professorial uniform, this Vulcan was donning the cadet reds representative of a student of Starfleet Academy.

“Er, thanks,” Jim ventured before the Vulcan plopped the wriggling mass next to Jim’s outstretched foot. He winced as the squishy sound rang out, and quickly spoke to diffuse the atmosphere. “And your name is…?”

“I am Cadet Nuvaak,” the Vulcan said. “It appears we continuously meet under unfortunate circumstances, Cadet Kirk.”

“Err,” Jim began before Bones cut him off. “He was there when you burned down the buildin’, Jim.”

Jim blushed in embarrassment as Bones continued. “I never got a chance to show my appreciation; without the action you took that day, I wouldn’t be sittin’ here counting my lucky stars. I’m much obliged, Cadet Nuvaak.”

“It was of no concern and requires no debt to be paid.” Cadet Nuvaak said. “I found myself… invested.”

Jim gulped as the Vulcan closely examined him. He interjected again and said, “Feel free to join us, Cadet Nuvaak. We owe you one – me, especially.”

As the others murmured their assents, Nuvaak inclined his head in affirmation and sat in the seat Uhura had previously occupied. Gaila pushed Uhura’s tray out of the side as he settled his tray in front of him.  

“So…” Sulu probed uncomfortably in the silence. “What is your focus, Cadet Nuvaak?”

“Astrophysics,” he said solemnly as he began to spoon the soup into his mouth. Noticing that nearly every other occupant at their table was staring expectantly at him, Nuvaak lowered his spoon before speaking again. “2nd year, my focus is on galactic interactions and development.”

The rest of the table was still looking at him, and he glanced around uneasily before continuing. “I am unaware of the protocol for interacting with humans. I apologize if my behavior is unseemly or rude by human standards.”

“No, no, of course not,” Gaila waved off his apologies. She was really too kind, Jim thought, falling a little more infatuated with the Orion. “I’m Gaila, by the way - we generally have little experience with interaction with Vulcans except for… well, except _him_. Having an addition to our group that is a non-human is a little unexpected, forgive us.”

“Gaila, I zhink you are an alien, no?” The Russian kid spoke up from diagonal to Jim. Jim blinked at him; the cadet looked hardly older than a teenager. “You are a non-human.”

“Of course I am, Pavel.” Gaila shot back. “But Nuvaak here is the odd one out, he’s probably uncomfortable with all of us ganging up on him-“

“I am not uncomfortable, Cadet Gaila.” Nuvaak’s expression hardly changed, but Jim slightly perceived a greenish tinge to the tips of his ears. He internally smirked and leaned closer to Nuvaak.

“You’re not?” he asked the Vulcan, blue eyes burning intensely. Jim was surprisingly invested in this conversation for some particular reason, and felt the need to clarify the other’s perspective.

“Vulcans do not ‘feel’ emotions, Cadet Kirk. However, I presume it would amuse you to go on a ‘human date’ with me, and I accept.”

 _Oh._ That was unexpected.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the jarring of his desk that piqued Jim’s attention.

He’d been avoiding the majority of his friends after the fiasco at lunchtime, but clearly his faux-erratic behavior was predictable enough to prevent evasion from best friend – Bones had sought him out in the far back recesses of Starfleet’s main library, tucked behind several dusty shelves of Garden Gnome Behavior and Gas Dynamics of the Local Galaxy Group, desk angled in such a manner that would appear unoccupied upon an initial glance. But Bones knew better than that to make cursory glances. He plopped himself onto the corner of Jim’s desk, sending papers with mysterious symbols and runes etched into the surface scattering everywhere.

“Hey, I was working on that!” Jim exclaimed, making a mad grab at one of the papers that floated barely within arm’s reach. Pulling it back onto his desk, he sorted the sheet into a remarkably similar stack of other papers, clearly faking organizational skills. Bones just snorted in response. “I’ve just got my E&M assignment left, then I can start on the Monte Carlo Integration program afterwards; Bones, you’ve got my instructions under your left butt cheek-“

“Inter-gluteal cleft,” Bones corrected him, shifting to place more of his weight onto the desk. “Jim, I ain’t here to hear you harp on your workload – lord knows you’ve tackled more than you can handle – I wanted to know what’s going on between you and that green-blooded…” His face screwed up in an expression remarkably similar to Pavel’s grimace after tasting Hikaru’s umeboshi wine for the first time. Clearly finding none of his usual terminology suitable for a politically correct descriptor, he settled on an ambiguous term, one poking fun at the events of earlier this afternoon. “Alien boyfriend.”

“Who, Spock?” Jim mumbled distractedly, pen cheekily waggling from its position between Jim’s lips. His brows were still furrowed in concentration, and Bones could almost see the cogs turning in Jim’s head as he figured his way through a theory derivation.

“Oh lordy, that was forreal?” Bones exclaimed. A chorus of hushed _‘shhhs’_ sounded from around the bookshelves and he dropped to a whisper with a guilty expression on his face. “I was referring to Nuvuu, Gluvack, whatever his name was, but gimme a break – I didn’t know you and Spock were together? And you’re gay?”

The repetition of Spock’s name snapped Jim out of his academia-induced stupor. “Huh, Bones? Uh, Spo- I mean, Lieutenant Spock’s not my boyfriend-“ He broke off to blush violently. Whoops. Jim knew his habit of over-spilling information would eventually catch up with him, and _coming out_ to Bones was not the designated plan of this conversation. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. We’re not even dating- we’re just-“ Jim gestured violently in an attempt to convey his thought processes to Bones. It didn’t work.

“Jim. Do me a favor and shut ya trap.” That, of all things, got Jim to stop flailing. He turned to look at his best friend perched on the corner of his desk, fuzzy light streaming in from outside to halo the medical student in a bath of golden warmth. Bones shifted and redistributed his weight before speaking again.

“Firstly I didn’t even know you swung that way -“

“I didn’t think there was a particular way to swing, Bones,” Jim mumbled, clearly mortified and sinking in to shame. Jim’s swing of emotion seemed even more violent – and negative – than earlier this afternoon, and Bones was beginning to be a little concerned. If Bone’s two semesters’ worth of credit in human psychology gave him any credentials, he’d put Jim on an anti-anxiety medication to placate the emotional extremes. He sighed – clearly Jim’s limbric system was in overdrive today, and despite the other’s reassurances, Jim’s anxiety was slowly mounting. He opted for a pacifying response to set the young cadet at ease.

“Fine. The terminology is ‘homosexual.’ I didn’t know you were a _homosexual_ , Jim. What happened to all those conquests of last year?”

“Bones, I’m not – well, not all the way, really. And it’s not like I didn’t feel anything for those women, I just happen to like both.” Jim refused to meet Bones’ eyes, opting instead to stare at the grooves in the desk. “Both isn’t quite the word I’m looking for. I like _people_ , I don’t really look at what gender they are; I don’t know how to explain it?”

“Jim, your words are slippier than a catfish when noodling on a Friday afternoon – but I get it. You like people – humans and aliens alike. Speaking of which, what are you gonna do about Nuvuu, Gluglaak?” Bones asked, smoothly changing the subject to a lesser sensitive topic.

“Nuvaak,” Jim responded, then quirked his mouth in thought. “Haven’t thought much of ‘em.”

“Well, you’ve got ‘til the week’s end until you need to make a decision. Honestly, I’d say go for it – the worst you can do is end up with a man with his knickers twisted in knot.”

“Knickers?” Jim teased.

“You know what I mean,” Bones swatted at Jim’s head and ruffled the younger’s hair. “He’s tall, dark, ‘n handsome – and you do your men like your Americanos, don’t you?”

Ignoring the jibe Bones was hinting at, Jim peeked at his watched, and faux gasped in alarm. “My, oh my – it’s half past three! I’ve got to get to lab.” Bones just groaned at Jim’s bad acting and relented his hair tussling of the other cadet. Jim’s bad acting morphed into a gush of his current research experience. “They’re thinking of installing the reroute code I created last time into the program, a subroutine that would circumvent the overheating issue we experienced last time-“

 “Looks like Admiral Pike did you a favor by putting you in that lab,” Bones smiled and made to stand up from his perch on the desk, but Jim reached out with a hand and yanked him back down.

Before Bones could react, Jim was wheeling his chair around the edge of the desk and tucking his face awkwardly into the side of Bones’ cadet reds – out of Bones’ sight, mind you – and proceeded to cling to the other. “Thank you, Bones.”

“S’no problem, Jim.” Bones awkwardly patted Jim’s arm from his inconvenient angle. He could feel a slightly damp patch spreading across his side – suspiciously located near where Jim’s face was pressed into his uniform - and inwardly frowned. Jim was clearly more than merely distressed; something else was bothering the stressed and overworked cadet, and Bones resolved his determination to do all possible to alleviate his burden. “I meant to remind you – stop by the Bay, will you? I need you to be a test subject for a new shipment of vaccines against the Urodelan and Kamaarazite Flu, and we’re short on prickin’ arms.”

“Starfleet’s Med Bay is never short on volunteers; the shipment of recent alien flu vaccines was processed over two weeks ago; the former illness – while widespread, is deemed a mild irritant at most – and the latter only exists in the IRAS +2016 nebulae, and I remain firmly grounded for the duration of my cadet experience.” Jim emerged sniffling from being tucked beneath Bones’ arm.

“Safety precautions for the future.” Bones huffed. “Your tone’s a little sharp there, ey?”

“Words, words, words. Manners are irrelevant when used to distract. And you’re giving them to me for free because I won’t be able to afford them, and you’re just being a good friend.”

“Didn’t you say you had lab to go to?”

“Damnit! Dr. Langdeau’s going to have my head if I’m late again,” Jim shouted as he began throwing stacks of paper and books into a backpack. Slinging it over his shoulder, he shouted behind him, “And in the literal sense, I mean!”

And as Jim dashed out of their cubby hole, he failed to hear a familiar Southern saying uttered behind him as he left –

_“Bless your heart.”_

 

oOo

 

“The time is four minutes past five-thirty PM, Pacific Time. You are late, Cadet Kirk.”

Spock’s voice rung out from the kitchen area, causing Jim to stop in his tracks against the wall. He was attempting to sneak back to their dorm and thought he was being slick by treading lightly against the squeaky floorboards, but obviously keen Vulcan ears were more sensitive than suggested in Jim’s xenobiology classes. He straightened up immediately and snapped to attention.

“I apologize Lieutenant Spock, but I was unaware of a curfew emplaced in this living arrangement.” Jim smoothly said as he walked resolutely to the kitchen. Standing awkwardly in the kitchen, he fidgeted in place and avoided eye contact with his roommate until the other spoke again.

“No such curfew exists, even though the belatedness of your sleep hours may alter the Circuadian Rhythm of your human cycle, but you are late to dinner.” Spock lifted a spoon to his mouth, and Jim observed the clear broth tantalizingly reflecting in his spoon. He swallowed visibly as a growl sounded out from his stomach. Spock ceased his motion, then set the spoon down next to his bowl. “Humans eat a consistent and well-regulated meal cycle. It appears that you have neglected yours, or have received inadequate nutrition from your Synthesizer choice.”

“Skipped lunch,” Jim muttered. Waiting an extra pause, he asked the other, “Aren’t you going to ask me to join?”

“Why would I ask such a trivial question?” Spock replied calmly, lifting his spoon again to sip at the broth.

“It would be the polite thing to do? I am your guest? I haven’t used your Synthesizer yet?” Jim shot back several suggestions, clearly irritated at Spock’s blasé behavior. He had quite a strenuous day in the lab working on reprogramming several nans out of his code, and nearly ripping the head off his rubber Tribble in frustration.

“Manners are inconsequential as they detract from the purpose of the conversation. You are no guest of this apartment as you have been officially reassigned to this dorm and are an active housemate of mine. I have also invested in the recommended model of Synthesizers for human food consumption and you will find no significant alternations in the programming from other makes.” Spock responded, eyes never lifting from his gaze focused on his soup. “You are free to attend to yourself, Cadet Kirk, but you have clearly shown you lack the capacity to do such.”

Jim let out a slow breath he hadn’t thought he was holding. Failing to come up with an appropriate response, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his bedroom at the end of the hallway. He walked into his room, shut the door firmly, and slumped against it.

He wasn’t going to cry. He _couldn’t_ cry. Crying depleted valuable resources, his father told him, and wasted precious time otherwise spent strategizing. It would be much more useful to dedicate his attention other imperative projects, such as planning food storage procedures, energy reserve calculations, ways to reduce waste and energy expended –

Jim didn’t even notice himself shaking until he heard a quiet knock at the door. He froze. Listening hard, he heard almost-silent footsteps sounding away from his room, then ending with a quiet sound of a door shutting. It took another five minutes for his body to unstiffen enough to sit up slowly, then kneel, and finally stand to twist the knob open.

From behind the door sat a small tray with Synthesized salad and various fruits, nuts, and grains.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Slut-shaming in dialogue.
> 
> I do not condone this sort of speech. Please be mindful that these words should not be used to describe anyone in real life.

In his right hand was his durable notebook, and nestled in his left hand: the elixir to life.

Compressed within an 8-oz recyclable Starbucks cup, the dark liquid winked innocuously despite being thoroughly saturated with hazelnut cream and sugar. Jim was hard-pressed to savor every single drop of his morning coffee.

Inhaling the alluring aroma gently steaming from the opening, Jim almost moaned in sheer anticipation. Cracking the lid open only enhanced the heavenly scent emanating and he began salivating in eagerness.  Anyone else in the 4th floor corridor of Chapman – renown for the upperclassmen Astrophysics courses – would’ve indulged in licentious thoughts as Jim tilted his head back and moaned happily. Eyes closed and throat exposed, he was the picture of pure indulgence.

Preoccupation over his coffee distracted Jim from two passing individuals in conversation, but a mention of his name caught his attention.

_“…Cadet Kirk, to boot!...”_

Jim blinked in confusion. Chapman did not house the Command Department, which was located in upper-mid campus, so to hear his name spoken of in a Sciences building was quite disconcerting. But perhaps he heard it wrong. Maybe they were referencing a Cadet Clark, or even a Cadet Kai, both of which were popular surnames at Starfleet Academy. Thinking nothing of it, he returned to his coffee, but the insistent, high-pitched voice filtered across his perception again, distracting him from his drink.

_“What’s it like living with Starfleet’s biggest slut?”_

Jim flushed red with shame, his ears burning in anger. It was no Cadet Clark nor Cadet Kai these individuals were referencing; they had deliberately singled out Jim to mock. Jim had heard of his less-than-redeemable private reputation before. But before he could act, a second, deeper voice joined the first.

_“I am unfamiliar with that term.”_

Spock. Just his fucking luck.

 _“Whore, tart, all in the same.”_ The nasally voice laughed nastily. It continued in a dismissive tone. _“He sleeps around a lot.”_

Jim skirted the cabinetry obstructing his view of the pair and peeked around the corner. The hallway was empty, but the voices still resonated through the building. They were walking away from him, he noted, by the decreasing volume of their conversation. He had yet to obtain visual, and glanced around to be certain they – or anyone else in Chapman at 8 AM - had not perceived him.

_“My observations thus far would support the opposing perspective. Cadet Kirk sleeps no more than the required minimum for Terran humans, which is 8.4 Solar hours per 24 hour day.”_

There was another nasty chuckle. Jim gritted his teeth in fury, jaw clenching painfully. _“Spock, you know I’m not referencing his bedtime hours.”_

There was a silence. The clicking of their soles against the marbled floors drew quiet, and Jim assumed the pair had reached their destination.

Peeking around the corner, Jim observed one straight-backed Vulcan – clearly Spock - and a second slimmer human male with tousled, brown hair. It was with a vicious stab of satisfaction that he noted the human male sported a large bandage wrapped around his forearm. Clumsy fool, he thought mockingly.

Spock, on the other hand, appeared no different than any previous interactions. Clad in his instructor blacks, he stood tall and imposing, hands clasped in a gentle parade rest. But on closer inspection, Jim noted his hands were clenched in tight fists.

_“You notice him bringing other people to your place a lot? Gary told us all about his… ‘friends’.”_

Jim was shocked. He had no idea what ‘friends’ this male was implying, but if Gary was involved, it could hardly be positive. For a split second, he considered coughing loudly and turning the corner, feigning innocence at their conversation, but Spock interrupted his fantasy with a well-placed: _“It would be a violation of his privacy to imply such behavior.”_

_“But surely you’ve noticed his absences? He’s not around much at night. If he’s not stumbling back drunk, he’d be off for days on end. Late to every promise he ever made, Gary said.”_

The silence rung in Jim’s ears. He felt the air was simultaneously too hot and cold, and found it difficult to draw breath. He wasn’t sure whether to turn around and leave, or make his presence known. In the end, his body betrayed him, and he waited there, transfixed in silence.

 _“Clearly incompatible,”_ the nasally man smirked, amusement in his voice. _“The rumors are true. You didn’t request him, then. Bet you hate living with him.”_

 _“As we have arrived at your destination and your physical safety is secured, I shall depart. There are assignments I need to attend to.”_ Spock returned, voice clipped.

_“Alright. Tomorrow, Lieutenant.”_

Spock’s footsteps faded in the opposite direction, and Jim felt the bulk of the tension desist. He slumped against the wall, ignoring the knob of some panel digging into his spine, and exhaled heavily. Raising his now-forgotten coffee cup to his lips absently, Jim began to sip at the liquid, but a deep voice startled him from behind.

“Greetings, Cadet Kirk.”

Surprised, he took a larger-than-expected first gulp, quickly realizing that the scalding liquid was still too hot for human consumption. Spluttering, he was a teary-eyed mess by the time the liquid traveled back up his windpipe, expelled in the body-wracking coughs that overwhelmed him. Looking up blearily, he noticed Cadet Nuvaak blankly staring back at him.

“Do you require assistance?” Nuvaak asked, Vulcan features betraying no emotions of concern or worry.

“ ‘M good,” Jim coughed out. “Just peachy.”

“I see no relevance to a domesticated Terran fruit in our conversation, Cadet Kirk.” Nuvaak replied blankly.

Jim returned his blank stare. “It’s human slang for…” he trailed off, trying to find an appropriate word. “one’s optimal physical condition,” he finished lamely.

Nuvaak merely blinked owlishly at him, waiting expectantly.

“So, what are you doing around here, anyway?” Jim forced a smile on his face. He’d ignore that conversation for now.

“This is the Astrophysics building, and I am an Astrophysics major. Furthermore, the lecture on Evolution of Galaxies from a Bayesian Statistics Approach is held in Chapman 402 in 11.327 minutes. I presume you will be attending this class as well, Cadet Kirk?”

It was Jim’s turn to gape at Nuvaak.

“How did you know that?” he asked, stunned.

“As a Vulcan, I possess extremely efficient perception skills and an eidetic memory-“

Elevator doors from further down the halls opened, spewing forth chattering cadets making their way to the lecture hall. He shuddered at the thought of artificially feigning a charming attitude in any social interaction, and took comfort in Nuvaak’s stoicism. Even if he was slightly conceited and a tad bit creepy, at least he didn’t expect Jim to be always smiling. Perhaps this may be the only benefit to hanging around Vulcans; their inability to perceive social cues gave them excellent poker faces.

 Jim slipped around Nuvaak, tugging on his sleeve, and said, “Let’s get a good seat.”

oOo

 

The rush of cadets sweeping out of the lecture hall startled Jim out of his reverie. He had spent the majority of the class time lost in his thoughts, constantly preoccupied with the conversation he had heard earlier. He blinked sluggishly at the clock, startled to see that it was already 10 AM.

He stood up suddenly. After the lights stopped twinkling in his vision, Jim bent down to retrieve his books, and almost head-butted Nuvaak while straightening.

“My next class is located in Alexander Hall. I shall need to depart in order to arrive punctually. Can we reconvene at a later time in order to discuss our date?”

“Sure,” Jim mumbled, not making eye-contact. Nuvaak nodded stiffly in response, then departed.

A walk in the fresh air was probably the best way to clear his head, Jim thought as he strode across campus five minutes later. The biting October wind did perhaps the absolute opposite – cadets were huddled against the gust, bundled tightly under several layers of clothing. Jim, in contrast, was dressed in only his cadet reds, with not even an overcoat for warmth. Therefore, rather than a rejuvenating walk, Jim ended up sprinting across mid campus to Starfleet Library, partaking in a frigid run instead.

The steps to Starfleet Library seemed warm and welcoming on a sunny day, but now seemed a surmountable obstacle to comfort and shelter. He bounded up them quickly, thighs burning in exhaustion, then pushed the door open quickly. Patrons to Starfleet Library gave him a cold look for letting in the breezy air, but order soon was reinstalled at the recognition of the intruder, albeit a few awkward glances.

Jim brushed off the rain droplets that accumulated on his uniform as he strode deeper into the library, resolutely ignoring all the stares. Reaching his destination, he turned the plaque on the Developmental Science Class of 2235 Lounge to _closed_ , and locked himself in.

Beginning with a quick surveillance of his surroundings, he noted no obvious video cameras monitoring his behavior with small satisfaction. Opening up his PADD, Jim began typing in the required code to gain prohibited access to the Academy’s private network channels. As one of the top programmers in his Software Design class and a TA for the coding seminars, he was quickly putting his efforts to good use.

Securing a stable network for access, Jim opened several terminals to begin running encryption functions that would disguise his digital footprints. Typing in his target’s name was a harder deal, however. Jim felt a slight twinge of guilt, but curiosity and determination overrode his shame and forged ahead.

**:\%\\\afs\starfleet.edu\procure_transmissions\encrypted-all**

**User? Enter Name: | S'chn T'gai Spock**

**ACCESS DENIED. PRESENT OVERRIDE CODE: |**

Jim quickly typed in the override code to access Spock’s transmissions, and began paging through the more recent ones with a filter search for his name. A series of transmissions between Spock and the Head of Housing popped up; twelve recorded conversations in total. He hesitated before opening them, but ended up skimming through the contents of all.

One phrase in particular stood out to him.

_‘I do not desire to share living arrangements. Such would be detrimental to the mental health and stability of both patrons residing within the apartment, and is highly inadvisable due to the following causes.’_

Jim skimmed past a four page divergence in purpose, complete with supported research and citations.

_‘As for rearrangements for Cadet James Kirk, I suggest relocation to the Neptune Village Apartments.’_

He had seen enough. Jim shut down the channels, mentally and emotionally exhausted. Stashing his PADD in his bag, he quickly exited the room.

 

oOo

 

Going for a jog was perhaps not his greatest idea. But the unintended run earlier had in fact cleared his mind, and Jim was intending to repeat that. He marked out a five kilometer trail along the crest of the park, one of the lesser-traveled paths, and set out armed with only his comm and a hydration pack.

Even for his standards, the run was brutal. The weather hadn’t gotten much better than it was a few hours earlier, and the misting rain from midday had morphed into pelting rain drops that stung as it hit flesh.

Swinging in a loop around the bay, Jim ended his run at Starfleet Academy medical clinic to chat with Bones. He eased himself into the waiting room gingerly, hips aching and clearly aware of a growing puddle of water beneath his feet.

Student Nurse Chapel peeked up at him from around the corner, then disappeared for a second. Seconds later, she thrusted a soft cotton towel and a warm mug of tea into his hands with a friendly smile. “I’d ask how you were, Jim, but clearly you’re not having a good day.”

“It could be better,” he admitted, glad to have seen a friendly face. “Is Bones around?”

“I’ve already paged him. He’s disrobing right now and will be out in a moment. Take care, Jim.” She returned before standing up and returning to the desk.

Not two minutes passed before Bones was pushing through the swinging doors, tricorder already in hand. He quickly spotted Jim and strode over to his friend; Jim opened his mouth for a greeting, but Bones beat him to it.

“Hypothermia, exposed risk to influenzas, potential frostbite; what in the hell were you thinkin’, Jim?” Bones grumbled out, tricorder already roving over his body. “You’re malnourished also. Low levels of iron, manganese, Vitamin B, basically all of your vitamins.”

“Hello to you too, Bones,” Jim returned dryly – as dryly as he could, currently soaked – and raised an eyebrow at his grumpy friend. “How was your shift?”

Ignoring the question, Bones continued rambling, “And you probably haven’t eaten yet today, what with your glucose levels this low-“

“Sure I did!” Jim retorted. “I’ve had…” He trailed off trying to recall his meals, before realizing that he did, in fact, not have breakfast nor lunch. He bit his lip and fidgeted. Bones was perceptive and caught on quickly.

“You’re not punishin’ yourself, Jim, are you now?” Bones asked, voice suddenly soft.

“Not intentionally,” Jim muttered as he hung his head. “I’ve had a rough day. In need of some comfort and vodka, whichever one comes first.”

“Let’s get some food in you first,” Bones said as he ushered his friend out the door. “Scotty’s upgraded the replicator over at my place, and I’ll set us up a table with all of the fixins’…”

“Burger and fries?” Jim asked, voice hopeful, but Bones quickly shook his head in disapproval. “Heart healthy fixins’. Got to watch your cholesterol, Jim. I’m thinking chicken salad and an avocado melt.”

oOo

To Jim’s surprise, the chicken salad and avocado melt was surprisingly tasty. As someone who had a revulsion to all things green and leafy, whatever Bones added to it made it not only bearable, but delicious. Not that he would’ve told his friend, anyway.

“Hunger is the best seasoning,” Bones said sagely, tilting his chair back after their meal.

“You’re a southern grandmother in disguise, Bones.” Jim responded, an easy smile on his face. His friend made a face at the subtle jab before changing the topic.

“So. Your day. What happened? Can’t have been much worse than wrangling a slippery kidney out of a transplant bag,” he chuckled at his own joke. Jim sighed in return.

Despite his prickly exterior, Bones was secretly the best girlfriend Jim ever had. (Not girlfriend as in dating; no, his ability to _ooh_ at the right moments and groan in sympathy had Jim ranting to him at least on a weekly basis.) He was patient throughout Jim’s story, keeping a warm hand on his shoulder that reassured Jim with its presence.

“I know he doesn’t want me around, Bones. I just can’t think of how to fix it.” Jim finished. “I don’t want to live there with him feeling uncomfortable, but the cause for his discomfort is false!”

“I’m sorry, Jim.” Bones said, leaning away briefly to grab his treasured bottle of bourbon. “Kids here are stupid. They’ll believe anything, even what that punk kid Gary says.”

A silence fell over the two men as Bones proceeded to pour two shots out for both of them.

“ ‘M not a slut,” Jim said weakly. “And his insinuations… I’m not ready Bones; I’m really not.”

“It’s none of their business anyway, Jim. It’s the 23rd century, for cryin’ out loud. You’d think all this interspecies mingling would’ve given them something else to talk about.”

Jim merely stared down into his glass, lost in thought. He ran a finger around the rim idly, frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Hang in there, kiddo.” Bones clapped a hand on his shoulder. Jim looked up into warm brown eyes, friendly and supportive. He couldn’t help but quirk a grin. “You’re stronger than them. You’ll be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emerging from my cave three months later, I know this is a very belated update. I had planned no fewer than two, maybe three updates since I last posted Chapter 3, but I just couldn’t bring myself to write. These past few months have been very… tumultuous and stressful, and for some reason, I kept judging my writing quality by the standards others have set in the fandom. Thoughts like, “Is my Spock characterization accurate to canon?” or “Is the plot development too rushed?” or “Your writing is childish and immature” flooded my brain, and every time I tried to sit down to write something, I felt embarrassed. And this embarrassment prevented me from doing something I loved, which is writing and plot building.
> 
> Not to vent for pity points, but I’m trying to ignore that critical voice in my brain nitpicking at my writing – I already know I’m not the best writer – but persevere because I truly love writing. I took a four week break from writing anything, and I’ve retackled all of my stories with a fresh mind. This time, the focus was on enjoying the writing process.
> 
> I’m not planning on winning any Pulitzers with this story. But I enjoyed creating this update, and I hope you’ll appreciate it too :)


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